


Famous Last Words

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Camping, Fellatio, Injury, M/M, Magical Shenanigans, Necromancy, Outdoor Sex, Passing Out, Podfic Welcome, Snowballing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 12:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16242041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Ryan and Shane go on a camping trip. Ryan finds a weird rock.





	Famous Last Words

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to have camping on the brain. Go figure!

“Is it true that this used to be a graveyard?”

Ryan looked around, shifting from foot to foot.

He was trying not to rub his hands together, trying not to look too antsy, too terrified.

“Not exactly, no.” Shane said, unrolling his sleeping bag. “There was, apparently, some kind of strange resurrection cult that used to come here, back in the day.”

“How back in the day are we talking?”

Ryan kept his own sleeping bag in his backpack.

“Pretty far,” said Shane. “Couple of thousand years. But it’s a nice campground now.”

It was, indeed, a nice campground at the top of a mountain, with a fire pit and a locker to put their food in at night. 

No shelter, but that was fine - they were in California, so it wasn’t as if they had to worry about it raining or anything like that.

Shane had suggested they go camping, and Ryan had been all for it - he loved camping once and a while.

Only once and awhile, mind you - too much camping made his back hurt.

But in the big, empty meadow on the mountain, surrounded by old trees and the sun going down, it seemed wholly worth it.

It had been awhile since he’d slept in his sleeping bag without being filmed, and it was nice to not have to worry about acting normally.

… well, as normally as he and Shane ever acted. 

But still.

“What kind of stuff did the resurrection cult… do?” 

Shane was unloading his pack - taking out his little camp frying pan, the little packets of bacon, the cheese.

“They killed a lot of people, then tried to bring them back. Your standard necromancy deal,” said Shane. 

“And you brought me here… why?” 

“Ryan, it’s been about two hundred years since anyone died here on purpose -”

“Versus not on purpose?!”

“I think someone had a heart attack, like, ten years ago,” said Shane. “I don’t think that’d count, for ghosts.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not violent or unpleasant. I mean, a heart attack isn’t a _great_ way to go, but it’s not too bad.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Ryan, his stomach churning. “I don’t want to end up in a situation where there are ghosts and we haven’t actually filmed it.”

“I swear to god, if there ends up being a ghost here, I will, personally, speak on camera and confirm it.” 

Shane held a hand to his heart, as if he was taking a Boy Scout pledge.

“Completely sincere?”

“Not even sarcastic,” said Shane. 

“People wouldn’t believe you if you weren’t being sarcastic,” Ryan said. 

“I’m sure they’d find a way to believe me,” said Shane. “Anyway, I brought a surprise.”

“What kind of surprise?”

Ryan unrolled his sleeping bag, and he sat on it, bringing his knees up to his chest, his arms on top of them, his chin on his arms. 

“The kind of surprise that results in delicious food,” said Shane. “Are you going to trust me?”

“... I trust you,” said Ryan, “despite my better judgement.”

“What do you mean, against your better judgement? Have I ever led you wrong?”

“Several times,” said Ryan. “But who’s counting?”

“Exactly,” said Shane, and then he was turning back to the fire, trying to light it, taking a small portable grill top (maybe? Ryan didn’t know about those sorts of things) and putting it to the side. 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Ryan, “So what kind of surprise is this?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” 

Ryan rolled his eyes, as Shane struck a match. 

“You know I get weird about surprises,” he told Shane. 

“You get weird about everything. You wanna go find sticks to make marshmallows, while I get the fire ready?”

“Do you _know_ how to start a fire?”

“I’ve got the internet, I’ve got matches, what more do I need?”

“I feel like those have been a lot of people’s famous last words,” said Ryan, but he stood up, making his way towards the circle of trees. 

“At least they’re famous,” Shane called back. 

Ryan shot the bird at him.

* * *

Ryan walked through the woods. 

It all smelled mossy and green, like some kind of fancy shampoo. 

The late afternoon sunlight was filtering down through the trees, and it was a study in contrasts - golden light mixed amongst the shadows. 

Ryan kept his eyes on the floor, looking for a good stick.

There was a strand of three birch trees, the white of their bark practically blinding in the rest of the forest.

There weren’t any other birch trees, come to think of it.

He made his way towards them, drawn towards their novelty more than anything else, and he stood in the center of the triangle they formed, looking up at the canopy.

There was an empty spot in the canopy, somehow, and a little arrow of light was falling down into his face, onto the ground.

He looked down, idly. 

Which was how he saw the rock.

It was an old, flat rock, half buried in the dirt, but _something_ had been carved onto it. 

Something that Ryan could barely make out, when he crouched down on the ground and dug it up. 

The rock was the size of a cutting board cut in half, and the thing that had been carved out of it - or had it just been eroded funny?

It felt a bit like a river rock - smooth, slightly textured along one side, completely shiny, apart from the strange marks carved into it, or possibly just erosion marks.

It was dark grey, and the shiny side seemed to capture the light and hold it, a bit like obsidian. 

Could a rock be half obsidian?

Ryan tucked it under his arm - it seemed like a neat thing to have.

A nice little memory of their camping trip. 

He wasn’t really paying attention, as he leaned down to pick up a stick, but the stone was getting warmer under his arm, as it absorbed some of the sweat that had been soaking into his shirt. 

* * *

“I have created fire,” said Shane, when Ryan came back with two long sticks, the flat, square piece of rock under his arm. 

“You’ve conquered an essential element,” said Ryan. “You’ve done what cavemen did millions of years ago.”

“Millions of years? Really? Has it been that long?”

“You’re the history nut, not me,” said Ryan, and he flopped onto the sleeping bags next to Shane, the flat piece of rock in his lap.

“That’s not history anymore, that’s… I don’t know what that is. Pre-history.”

Shane sat back as well, and he leaned against Ryan.

He smelled like sweat and smoke - it was a nice combo, although Ryan couldn’t put his finger on why.

“So when does it start counting as history, versus prehistory?”

“When people started to write shit down,” said Shane, his arm around Ryan’s shoulders. 

Ryan leaned in, and he let the sun wash over his face, let the fire’s warmth wash over his feet, his legs. 

“I guess I can’t really argue with that,” said Shane, and he nuzzled his face into Ryan’s temple. 

“I found something weird,” said Ryan, “out in the woods.”

“What is it?”

“Weird looking rock,” said Ryan, and he held it out to Shane. 

“Wow,” said Shane. “That thing looks weird as hell.”

“Seriously,” said Ryan, and he held the flat rock on his lap, running his fingers across the weird marks.

They might have been some kind of weird writing, might have been random bits of erosion. 

“You think it’s a note from an alien species, lef there three million years ago?”

“Three million? It’s that in prehistory?”

“I mean,” said Shane, and he took the piece of rock in his own hand, tracing his fingers over the random bits of lines, “if it had writing, I’d have to rethink my idea of what counts as prehistory.”

“A single rock is changing your views of the world?”

“It’d have to be a pretty impressive rock,” Shane conceded, and he looked down at it, frowning at the little marks on it.

It was unnaturally flat, which was a bit unsettling, and it was smooth, like it had been in a river.

“What kind of rock is it?”

“No idea,” said Shane, “but it is a good size to put a cutting board on. Can you cut up the bacon?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Ryan, then, “wait, you brought a _cutting board_ on a camping trip?

“You don’t want me to cut up the bacon on the dirt, do you?”

“You couldn’t have used a plate?”

“I mean,” said Shane, handing Ryan the small cutting board, “that would have made life a bit more difficult, I should think.”

He handed Ryan a knife, and a packet of bacon. 

“Why am I cutting up the bacon?”

“Because I am going to make you a truly glorious dinner of bacon pancakes, and in order to do that, I need to have the bacon cut up in little pieces.”

“Why are you making me bacon pancakes while we’re out in the middle of nowhere?”

“... because pancakes and eggs are the only foods I know how to cook on an open fire,” said Shane, looking faintly sheepish. “I didn’t want to try to haul eggs up a mountain.”

“... fair enough,” said Ryan, and he grinned. “I’ll dice it up perfectly, I promise.”

“Just don’t cut yourself,” said Shane. 

“I’m not gonna cut myself,” Ryan said, standing up and putting the slab of stone in his lap, then putting the cutting board on top of the stone. 

* * * 

Ryan cut himself.

It was totally by accident - a jumping spider landed on his arm, which made him jump, which made the knife slip, which made it slice into his thumb, and then he was swearing, and he was shoving the cutting board off of his lap (the bacon was safe, thank fuck), to keep from getting blood on anything.

He was dripping blood pretty steadily onto the rock, and it was pooling creepily into the little eroded bits. 

They weren’t words - how could he have thought that they were letters?

Wow. 

Ryan was floating about a foot to the left of himself, as he looked at his blood on the stone.

“Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I need a bandage.”

Ryan’s tone was very calm. 

“Why do you - Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Ryan,” said Shane, and then he was grabbing Ryan’s hand with his own hand, and he was digging in his bag with the other, grabbing the extra t-shirt he’d packed. 

“Okay,” said Shane. “Okay, it’s fine, it’s fine. We’re fine. You’re fine.”

The setting sun was gilding Shane’s face in different shades of red, and there was red all over Shane’s shirt, from Ryan’s hand.

That was poetic and shit.

Neat.

“Ryan?”

Shane’s voice was coming from a long way off.

Ryan’s hand was resting on the stone, and the stone was warm, almost tingly. 

Ryan flexed his fingers, and then everything went dark.

He was aware, faintly, of his head hitting the ground, and then he was out.

* * *

Rywan woke up to Shane’s upside down face. 

“Ry?”

Shane looked panicked.

“Dude,” said Ryan, “what happened?”

“You cut your hand,” Shane said. “And then you passed out.”

“Huh,” said Ryan. “I’m usually better than that about blood.”

He sat up, carefully, and he looked at his own palm.

The cut was along his thumb, and it was long, deep enough to be unpleasant.

His stomach made a bit of a warning… twitch, and he shivered, and looked away.

“Good thing I packed a first aid kit, huh?”

Shane’s voice was cheerful - almost forcibly so. 

“Yeah,” Ryan said, and then he sniffed. “What’s burning?”

“... fuck, that’d be the bacon,” said Shane, and he was grabbing the pan, dumping out the ashes of the greasy bacon to the side.

… right on the flat stone.

Huh.

The damn thing was getting a whole lot of stuff on it tonight, wasn’t it?

That was interesting.

Ryan was still existing a little bit to the left, although he wasn’t sure why.

It was almost as if he’d lost more than blood - almost like some of his energy had been sapped out with it, leaving him weak and tired. 

“Welp,” said Ryan, and then he laughed. 

He hadn’t meant to laugh - Shane looked so _crestfallen_ in the waning light, and Ryan reached out with both hands, cupping Shane’s face, and he kissed Shane, with his tongue, with laughter still bubbling against his lips. 

Shane kissed him back, his face smoothing out.

“I’ve fucked it up,” said Shane, his voice rough.

“Yep,” said Ryan. “You’ve ruined our whole relationship, with one bad date.”

“One bad date where you passed out,” Shane pointed out.

“I once had a date where I threw up, then passed out,” Ryan said.

“... did you?”

“Oh yeah,” said Ryan. “It’s one reason why I can’t drink cinnamon booze anymore.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Shane. “So… you’re not mad at me.”

“We had a bad date,” said Ryan, and he sat up carefully, rubbing the back of his head. “I think that makes it kinda funny, honestly. We had a bad date, instead of shit going… y’know, sideways.”

It hurt, just enough to throb, but his whole body felt faintly overdrawn, as if he’d been working out past his own limits. 

He sighed, his fingers in Shane’s hair.

“Look at it this way,” said Ryan. “At least it’s not property damage. You just burnt some bacon. Now you’ll just have to give me pancakes.”

“I’ll give you some disgustingly good oral sex as well,” Shane said, in a tone of voice that brooked no arguments. “To make up for it, I mean.”

“Not just good, but _disgustingly_ good?”

“You know it,” said Shane, and he waggled an eyebrow. 

“I’m gonna take your word on that,” said Ryan. 

“Don’t worry,” said Shane. “You just gotta hold up your end of the deal.”

“What’s my end of the deal?”

“... no more bleeding, please. Or other gross bodily harm.”

Shane looked faintly queasy.

“Fair enough,” said Ryan, and he gave a nervous laugh. 

* * *

Shane scraped the burnt bacon off of the rock and back into the fire (“don’t want any late night visitors”) and made pancakes.

They were, of course, delicious, if a little singed around the edges and tasting faintly of bacon.

They ate companionably, hip to hip, as the sky got dark and the stars came out like a million little pinpricks of light.

“I read once, that someone said that the stars are like holes in a blanket,” said Ryan, as the two of them watched the full moon come into the sky, great and grinning like a Jack o’Lantern.

“Holes in a blanket?”

Shane had an arm around Ryan’s waist, and was nuzzling into Ryan’s neck. 

“Yeah. And every good deed you do is another hole in the blanket.”

“Isn’t that from the Boy Scouts?”

Shane’s hand was down the back of Ryan’s pants now, and he squeezed. 

Ryan arched into it, and Shane grinned. 

“I do believe I owe you an apology blowjob,” said Shane.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Ryan said. 

“Well then, considering it a “thank you” blowjob, or something,” said Shane. “Maybe I just wanna give you a blowjob. Didja think of that?”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” Ryan said. “I’m not going to… you know, argue, just….”

“Just lie back,” said Shane, gently pushing Ryan back onto the sleeping bags.

“Right,” said Ryan. “... what if someone walks in on us?”

“Nobody is going to walk in on us,” Shane said, and his voice was soothing, as he leaned over further, to kiss Ryan on the mouth.

Ryan kissed Shane back, sucking on Shane’s tongue, his hands going to Shane’s hair.

The cut on his hand was throbbing, but so was his cock, as Shane kissed down the line of his body. 

Shane’s mouth was hot, and it was a contrast to the slightly cooler air, and then Shane was undoing Ryan’s belt, pushing them down, and there was Ryan’s cock, half hard in the chilly air. 

“Oh, there you go,” said Shane. “I’ll salvage this date, by gum.”

“... by gum,” Ryan said. “Oh my god. Are you reading, like, mid-eighteenth century novels or something?”

“Mid-eighteenth century novels. Wow. Have you been doing a lot of research on them?”

Shane pushed Ryan’s shirt up, and he kissed down the line of Ryan’s stomach, his lips dry and hot against Ryan’s skin.

The night seemed to be _thrumming_ with… something.

Ryan was lightheaded, his cock filling with blood, hard and desperate, hot and throbbing.

He was breathing hard, and his breath felt like mist against his chin, his eyes sliding shut.

Then he opened them, staring up at the sky, and it the moon was smiling at them, the forest was full of eyes watching them.

Everything seemed to be… _more_.

Was this what fucking in the open air was like?

Was he becoming one with nature?

Then Shane’s mouth was wrapped around his cock, and it was hot and wet.

Shane’s mouth was silky inside, and his tongue was doing things that made Ryan see starbursts behind his own eyes.

“You feel so good,” Ryan said, and his voice was thick. “You feel… you’re amazing, fuck, Shane!”

“Mmm,” Shane said, around the cock in his mouth.

He was making wet noises with his throat, and he was flickering his tongue, tracing along the head of Ryan’s cock, as Ryan’s toes curled against Shane’s sides.

Shane was flat on his stomach, and the weird rock was right by Ryan’s hand.

… when had that happened?

Ryan threw his head back, and he opened his mouth to take a deep breath, his hips rolling forward. 

“Fuck,” Ryan said, and his voice cracked.

“I didn’t pack any lube,” said Shane, and his stubbly cheek was pressed against the tender skin of Ryan’s cock. 

“I’d feel weird fucking here anyway,” said Ryan. “The moon watching us.”

“Versus the moon watching you give me a blowjob?”

“... fair point, fair point,” said Ryan. 

“A blowjob is different from making the beast with two backs, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Ryan, and there was something uneasy growing in the pit of his stomach. 

Something that was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, as if they were remembering when they were hackles. 

Shane’s mouth descended down onto Ryan’s cock, and Shane’s hands were on Ryan’s hips, holding them in place.

Ryan was moaning to the sky, and the sky - the _stars_ \- were beating in time with Ryan’s heart, with the throbbing in Ryan’s cock, the pleasure that was beating through Ryan like pain.

Shane’s breath was hot and misty against Ryan’s groin, and Shane’s drool was slithering down Ryan’s cock, to puddle on his balls.

Ryan turned his head, and he let go of Shane’s hand, until his hand was resting on the strange rock, which had lost the blood, and he would have been confused about that, except that… Shane was trying to suck his mind out through his cock, and who was Shane to complain about that.

His mouth fell open, and his back arched as he spread his legs wider, planting his feet on the ground and just… taking it.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, Shane, I’m… I’m gonna cum, please….”

“Do it,” Shane said. “Do it, I want to feel you cum, do it….” 

The rock seemed to be throbbing in time with Ryan’s cock, with the sweetness that was washing over him.

The stone was warm, and his hands were sweating, as he held on. 

He cried out like a wild beast, and he came like a fountain, down Shane’s throat, and then down Shane’s chin, as sat up, to kiss Ryan’s hot, wet mouth.

Ryan tasted his own cum, and he cupped Shane’s cheek, his finger sliding into Shane’s mouth, collecting some of Shane’s cum.

Without thinking, he pressed the semen against the stone, and then he was kissing Shane again, and his hand was sliding between the two of them, to begin to stroke Shane’s cock through Shane’s chinos.

Shane carefully unbuttoned his pants, shoved them down, and there was his cock, flushed and red, leaking down the shaft.

Shane sobbed, then moaned as Ryan wrapped a hand around his cock - it throbbed in Ryan’s hand, hot and wet, the skin soft and silky.

Shane’s hips rolled forward and he was moaning, his fingers on Ryan’s shoulders now, digging in.

He was kissing Shane with the kind of desperation associated with romance novels, or possibly some kind of long separation.

Shane’s eyes were bright in the moonlight, and his face seemed to be luminescent, throbbing with that same strangeness. 

Shane was making quiet, desperate noises, and Ryan kept his face against Shane’s, let Shane whine and whimper into his mouth as his wrist worked, his palm sliding up and down Ryan’s shaft, spreading Shane’s pre-cum along it. 

Ryan jerked Shane off exactly the way he knew Shane loved, and he kissed Shane, tasting pancakes, tasting warmth, tasting his own cum.

Shane came across Ryan’s hand, his forehead against Ryan’s, panting on Ryan’s face, and Ryan, lacking anything else to do, wiped it on the rock.

It seemed like the right thing to do, and it wasn’t like he wanted to get jizz on anything else, right?

“I need to pee,” mumbled Shane, his mouth warm and wet against Ryan’s neck. 

“You’ve only got the whole of the outdoors to do it,” Ryan said.

The stone seemed to be getting warmer, and Ryan pulled his hand back, looking at it.

Was he imagining things, or was it… glowing?

And then the stone cracked. 

The stone broke like a promise, with a very final sound, and there was a brightness in the air - everything seemed to be going luminescent. 

Ryan pressed against Shane, and the two of them stared, because… well, what else were they going to do.

There was a… shape forming, a great, shambling form, covered in rotting vines. They rustled as it moved, like someone wearing a grass skirt. 

It was massive the way a whale is massive, an elephant, a rhinoceros. 

Something alive and moving, but beyond the comprehension of size.

It had eyes like rotting jack-o-lanterns, and it rose up against the moonlight like a skyline - he didn’t know where its head was, but there were glowing luminescent spots near the top, and there were what might have been antlers.

Half an antler? 

It was quadrupedal, or maybe it was some of… centaur?

There were extra arms sprouting from its long abdomen - a lot of extra arms, and some of them ended in rotted off stumps, and some of them ended in grasping claws, or hands, or paws. 

Bits of its skin were missing - rotted off, revealing the pink muscle beneath it. 

The thing stared at them, with its great eyes - oh hey, it had more than two eyes, it had compound eyes like a goddamn spider.

It had a face, and the face was the wrong shape for the body - it was too flat, almost recessed, but the nose was long and narrow.

Ryan could just make out the shape of fangs - or were they tusks?

The thing had its mouth open, just a bit, and it was panting, its purple-black tongue lolling out. 

He could… he could smell it.

It smelled old, the kind of old associated with ancient caves - rotted, fetid, full of dead mammoth and cave bear.

It moved slowly, jerkily, like its limbs were locked in place.

Ryan was observing all of this very calmly, from the back of his mind.

Someone was making some sort of cut off whimpering noise, in the background.

Oh.

Hey.

That was him.

“I was dead,” the thing said. 

It had a voice like an old tree falling over, after it had succumbed to rot.

“Were you,” said Shane, and he sounded like he was in shock. 

“Who has performed the necromancy to bring me back?” 

Shane and Ryan looked at each other, their eyes bright in the moonlight. 

What had they just woken up?

More importantly… could they put it _back_?

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic? 
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Check out my Tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com!


End file.
